It’s only 9.30 on the day of mum’s move and already things are fucked. The manager at social services told us she would be at her desk from 8. I ring at 8 to be told she works at a different department. We email her. We ring back. They email her. Jubilee house rings to say they are moving mum in a taxi this morning rather than this afternoon as agreed so I could get there in time to be with her. The manager rings from a blocked number. Why the earlier move? Because Jubilee House wanted it. I ask if we can move the time of mum’s move from 11am to at least 12 so we can try and be there for her. My partner is going to drive us down instead of me getting the train.
Back at Dad’s house now. We’ve driven down, taken the TV, clothes and bits and bobs over to the nursing home. Mum’s room looks nice. My partner has had to drive home to get her son from school. I am going to take dad to visit the home.
Remember how QA lost mum’s clothes and I bought some more for her? Well Jubilee House have lost those.
Oh, and they completely ignored my request to move mum at about 12. I phoned the regency when we were picking up mum’s stuff at 11.30 and she’d been there for an hour. So I didn’t get to help her in. Thanks.
On train home. Made dad a cup of tea when I got back from the nursing Home at 2. He immediately started talking about his book and game and how he wanted to make a website where people could give us money like that girl who photographed her school dinners had made. I listened but… Didn’t say much. The positive thing was he had mentioned the idea of going to nursing home too. It would be better if they could be together and looked after. I got a taxi and helped dad into it. When we got to the home, The home staff said he looked unkempt, and were his carers looking after him enough? He said no but that’s all we could get from the council and he didn’t ask them to shave him etc. He was just being fed and watered. They had asked if he wanted to join mum but he wouldn’t have it. We saw mum for a bit. The old lady sat next to her kept mistaking me for a nurse and asking about things I didn’t understand. I had to politely say i wasn’t a nurse. Mum eventually typed up about needing physio for her back. It must have been uncomfortable. I spoke to the home staff about this and other things and when I got back to mum and dad he looked glum and wanted to go. Called a taxi. He said the home was too warm for him and he wasn’t feeling well. A taxi covered in England flags arrived and took us back to dad’s home. Just dad’s now I suppose.
Another cup of tea, another chat about his book. I gave him a shave. He got me to order a new electric razor online. Then I went to catch the train where I am now.
I don’t know about blogging about all this. But normally now I would be looking at twitter and Facebook and trying to think of something to tweet that wasn’t miserable or passive aggressive and then giving up and saying nothing. At least this is an outlet. You can’t do observational stand up about this stuff.
I don’t know maybe I’ll delete it.